


Game Theory

by PoetHrotsvitha



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Barebacking it!, Dominant Ben Solo, F/M, Humiliation kink, Improvised BDSM, Modern AU, Name Calling, Prompt Fill, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shoe Humping, Submissive Rey, University AU, canon age gap, tied up with a tie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetHrotsvitha/pseuds/PoetHrotsvitha
Summary: Prompt fill: “Rey loves how soft and caring of a lover Ben is, but she needs more fire from him. So she sets out to piss him off. She has always heard angry sex is one of the best kinds.”In which Rey possibly, sort-of-maybe, bites off more than she can chew.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 108
Kudos: 834
Collections: Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	Game Theory

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to fill a prompt from the @reylo_prompts twitter account: "Rey loves how soft and caring of a lover Ben is, but she needs more fire from him. So she sets out to piss him off. She has always heard angry sex is one of the best kinds."
> 
> @YTCShephard said this prompt was basically someone speaking my name three times in a mirror at midnight, and she’s not wrong. 
> 
> Thank you to @ancientcityjenn and @spaceminstrels for the beta work! <3 <3 
> 
> This work is... Spicy. It explores some less mainstream kinks. **Please double check the tags.**

The bed creaks rhythmically, bumping against the wall on each one of Ben’s thrusts. 

Underneath him, semi-trapped by the weight of his body, Rey wraps her arms around his broad back as best she can. The huffing against her ear is hot and humid, and his shirt is bunched up under her hands; they hadn’t fully gotten undressed for this, too eager for him to be inside her. Each rocking movement hits something just right, making it hard to breathe, and it’s all she can do to not start wailing into the air. His roommates wouldn’t appreciate that. 

“Fuck,” Ben groans, especially when she curves her fingers so her nails scrape against his back. “Fuck, Rey, you— you— you’re so—”

For a brief, wild moment, Rey thinks he might be working up to something filthy. The thought makes her feel a little bit more squirmy. 

“—love you so much,” he says instead, which is definitely _nice_ , but not quite what she wanted. 

Still, it’s a wonderful thing, to be loved, so she cranes upwards to press a kiss against the bridge of his nose. “Love you too.” 

His hands come up to press against the side of her neck as his thumbs ghost over her cheekbones, cupping her face. If she closes her eyes, she can imagine that his hands have slid a little further to tighten around her neck and hold her down. _Take it_ , imaginary-Ben chants, _take it, you little whore_ — 

Rey’s eyes snap back open guiltily when his thrusts suddenly increase in speed and force, building towards a rapid climax that nearly bends her in half. When he comes with a groan through clenched teeth, there is a flush of wet warmth between her legs; it hasn’t been that long since they stopped using condoms, and it still sets her heart fluttering. There’s something about the forbiddenness of it that makes it all that much more appealing. 

With a grunt, Ben heaves himself sideways and they stare at the ceiling side by side, the sweat on Rey’s skin beginning to cool. She rolls onto her elbow to look at him. “Dinner in halls tonight? It’s a Tuesday formal.” 

He reaches for a towel to try and wipe up their mess. “I have some leftover beef bourguignon from the weekend that I thought I would warm up with some of the sourdough I made, to be honest. I’d prefer it to shit college food.” 

“Come on,” she wheedles, “come to Medwards, have dinner with me. I can get you a ticket, it’ll be fun.” 

From the way that he smiles as he gently leans down to clean her, she knows that she’s already got him. “Promise to protect me from the freaky-as-fuck paintings on the walls?” 

“I’ll keep the post-modernists away,” Rey promises, grinning down at him. 

“And the angry feminists?” 

She kicks out at his shoulder as he laughs. “I _like_ being in an all-girls college, you arse.” 

“Fine, fine.” He crawls up her body to give her a peck on the forehead. “I’ll cycle all the way up there for you.” 

She considers pointing out that nothing in Cambridge is more than a half hour’s cycling from the city centre. Instead, she rolls off the bed to start fixing her clothing, twisting her bra back into place and hiking her jeans up. Ben lies there and stares, and the open appreciation makes her cheeks heat a little; it doesn’t help that with his shirt still halfway up his chest and his trousers on except for being open at the belt, he looks thoroughly debauched. 

On her way out of his room, she stops to blow him a kiss. “See you later, Solo.” 

It makes her heart stutter when he grins. 

She successfully avoids Hux and Phasma on her way out, which is always a win in her book. As she begins to cycle back to college, weaving through students and tourists along cobblestones, she can’t stop thinking about the soft, sweet way that Ben holds her, the way that he tells her how beautiful she is, how much he loves her. By the time she’s huffing and puffing up the hill, she decides that she’s woman enough to admit that it might be nice if he were a _little_ bit meaner. By the time she’s waving to the porters and walking through the glass doors of Murray Edwards College, she’s accepted that what she might actually want is for him to be a whole _lot_ meaner. 

* * *

She enlists Rose to help her dress for formal. Or, at least, this is the pretext; in reality, she kind of would like some advice about how to improve her sex life, but that’s a difficult thing to ask for outright. 

Rose is helping her with the zip on her tightest, teeniest black dress when she finally works up the courage. “If I, um… So, that is— well.” She coughs. “If you wanted something different from someone you’re shagging, what would you do? Something different from what you’re already doing, I mean.” 

To her credit, Rose takes it in stride and refuses to go along with hypotheticals. “You should ask Ben.” 

“Okay, but— just as an example, of course— what if I wanted him to be a bit more… Forceful?” 

“You should ask him.” She’s finally worked around the little hitch in the zip. She steps back to admire it with a smile. “There, that looks— stop touching your face! You’ll smear your eyeshadow.” 

Rey obediently drops the offending hand. “Isn’t there some other way?” 

“You could ask him to become a mind reader,” Rose says dryly. “I’m sure most PhD students think they’re clever enough to try, and he would do basically anything if he thought you’d be happy with him for it.” 

Rey frowns over her shoulder. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s embarrassing, Rey, the way he moons after you.” 

“Don’t be daft.” 

With a smile, Rose raises her hands, as if in defeat. “If you want Ben to be more bossy in bed, I’m very confident you need only ask. He would walk on hot coals for you.” 

Some of the mascara on Rey’s eyelash has clumped. She leans forward to pick at it, steadfastly avoiding Rose’s gaze. “I thought I might just see if I could annoy him into being meaner. Just really try and wind him up, you know? Push his buttons a little.” 

The long silence makes Rey turn around and look to Rose, whose raised eyebrows are a condemnation all their own. 

“I think it’s a good idea,” Rey protests. It makes her feel squirmy just thinking about it, Ben losing his temper and taking some anger-fuelled sexy revenge out on her willing body. 

Rose looks heavenward, as if in prayer. “Sometimes I can’t believe that you got full funding. You two deserve each other.” 

* * *

The great hall at Murray Edwards is not like some of the older, grander colleges, where there is wood panelling and portraits of old white male Deans on the walls. There is a domed white ceiling and white walls and eclectic art that changes with some regularity. Rey and Ben are seated at one of the round tables with a few post-docs that she’s never met before, one other student she’s seen in passing, and their guest. It’s a nice crowd, and Rey enjoys listening to one of the post-docs detail their research about novel prognostic tests for chronic liver disease; even Ben looks engaged, slightly overdressed in his academic gown over a suit, only complaining minimally about the quality of the soup. 

She waits until the second course to knock Ben’s wine into his lap. 

He’s more startled than annoyed with her, unfortunately, so she does her best to bat his hand away when he tries to hold it or put it on her knee. A few times, she outright interrupts him, laughing over something that he tries to jump into the conversation. 

She even steals a bit of the nicest meat that he had clearly moved to the corner of his plate to savour. With her mouth still full, she turns to him and says brightly, “isn’t this better than your beef bourguignon?” while he stares at her, openly appalled. Dessert passes with him giving her strange glances, and she’s encouraged by the tight working of his jaw by the time they reach the after-dinner drinks. 

They leave early. As an all-girls college, it’s not strictly encouraged that she have male guests back to her room. But it’s also not forbidden, and it’s not the first time that Ben has accompanied her for some late-night amorous activities. 

Once the door is closed, she throws herself at him without preamble. Normally he would lift her off her feet with his enthusiasm. Instead, holds her at arm's length, ducking her clumsy attempt at an embrace. “Rey, what’s happening?” 

“Just kiss me, you muppet,” she says, trying to lean into him again. 

He ignores her, furrow in his brow deepening. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Are you angry at me?” 

Embarrassment makes her stutter out a sharp “maybe,” but she starts to backtrack the moment she sees his crestfallen face. “But— no. No, I’m not. Not really.” 

“What do you mean, not really?”

Chewing on her lip, she stares at the wall over his shoulder, where she’s taped up some photos of her and Rose dancing, drunk and happy, at last year’s May Ball. “I kind of want— I would like you to be meaner in bed”, she blurts, practically tripping over the final words in her haste to get them out. “I thought maybe if I pissed you off…” she trails away, not sure she can say the rest out loud. 

He just stares at her. She’s seen Ben throw tantrums before, once ending a formal debate on Iranian trade policy by picking up a chair and hurling it at the wall; this is different, still as a stone in a way that makes her think there is a river’s worth of _something_ going on underneath. 

The silence is excruciating. “Are you angry at me?” She’s aware of how ridiculous the question is, given that she initially set out with that as her goal. 

He puts his hand to his face and holds it there for two seconds before raking it back through his hair, his eyes closed. Taking a deep breath, he slowly looks at her, and the focus there makes her shiver. “I think I might be, sweetheart. I’m angry that you didn’t just tell me what you wanted.” 

“Are you leaving?” Rey despises the way that it comes out, small and scared. It activates something all-too-familiar, the deep and desperate grief of her parents dropping her at the Dagenham Council office doors and walking away, back to a neighbourhood that she couldn’t remember how to find on her little legs. Even though the situation couldn’t be more different— and she knows it— some of that fear will always remain, she thinks, no matter how far she gets from it. 

“No.” He shrugs his gown off, hanging it on her coat hook, followed by his suit jacket. He begins to roll the sleeves of his formal shirt up to his elbows. “No, I’m not leaving.” 

Everything in Rey is at such a fever pitch that it should surprise her less, how quickly and easily her fear slides into arousal. “You aren’t?” 

“Turn around,” he says, and the depth of his voice sets butterflies fluttering in her chest. Steeling herself, she rotates on her heel, facing the wall. There’s a step from behind her, and then she can feel his heat along her back and something silk and soft slides around her wrists; his tie, she sees, when she twists to look. “Eyes in front, sweetheart”, he murmurs, and her head snaps back towards the wall as her hands are bound together. “That all right?” 

The knot is comfortably loose. She could easily wriggle out of it if she set her mind to it, and the thought that he’s going easy on her is oddly irritating. Enough that she snaps out her answer. “Of course it’s fine.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” he responds, infuriatingly calm. “Get on your knees.” 

Another little bolt goes through her. “What?” 

“Knees, sweetheart. Now.” 

She thinks about bickering with him. But instead, she shifts her stance, gasping out a sharp breath when she feels his hand wrap firmly in her hair, guiding her down. It’s just tight enough to sting. 

The old carpet feels scratchy. Somewhere behind her, drawers are sliding open and closed. “Where are your toys, Rey?”

“My what?” 

“Your toys.” The click of her wardrobe door. “I know you have some. For playing with what’s mine.” 

Her mouth immediately gets drier. “They’re, um. In a shoebox under my bed.” Not that they’re anything particularly impressive— a novelty bullet vibe that she got as a joke gift at a party, and one favoured dildo on the smaller side. A bit of erotica and her hands are usually enough to do the trick when she’s in the mood by herself.

Ben hums in a satisfied sort of way as he goes to her bed, and she hears more shuffling and the box being opened. Her legs clench when a low buzzing starts and fills the room. “I want to make sure I understand.” His footsteps grow closer to her again. “You’d like something different in bed— meaner— and you thought you would annoy me into manhandling you? Doing some caveman shit?” 

Her breathing feels so loud in her ears, and she opens and closes her mouth uselessly. 

“Answer me.” Fingers curl in her hair again, not pulling, just— there. 

“Yes,” she breathes, “that’s what I wanted to do.”

His suit trousers rustle as he crouches, still holding her firmly. “Do you know the problem with that?” 

There’s something about the low way that he says it, and the slow trickle of arousal filling Rey’s belly starts to accelerate, picking up steam. The right thing to do is probably to apologise. She doesn’t. “I don’t see a problem.” 

“The problem,” he says firmly, “is that you’re applying the intervention without knowing the outcome. You have no idea what I’m like when I’m pissed with you.” 

“I’ve seen you angry!” She’s almost offended at the suggestion. “There was the time that someone said Hume was the pinnacle of human thought—”

“Angry with _you_ , Rey,” he corrects. “That’s not the same thing. Not by a long mile.” 

The voice that answers almost sounds like it’s from a different person, breathy and eager. “It isn’t?” 

“No. It isn’t.” His big palms slide down the side of her body until they reach the edges of her dress, pulling them up over her hips, all the way to her navel. She expects him to yank her underwear down next, but instead he takes the small bullet vibrator, still buzzing, and slides them inside the front of her knickers. They’re tight enough that the stretch holds the vibe lightly in place when he lets go, placing it close— but nowhere near close enough— to where she needs it. “You should be careful what you ask for.” 

To her shock, he takes his hands away and stands. “What are you— what are you doing?” 

“Do you have anything to drink in here?” 

She ignores his question and tries rotating her hips bit, hoping that it will make the vibe slip a little lower. 

“Don’t move, Rey. I promise you won’t like what happens if you do.”

She obediently freezes. It feels hard to breathe. This is so different from what they’re normally like together— and she’s almost embarrassed to discover that she doesn’t dislike it. Rather the opposite. 

“A drink. Do you have anything?” 

Rey’s tastes tend towards the… Affordable. “I have some cans of Strongbow at the end of my bed.” 

“ _Strongbow_ ,” he mutters in clear disgust. “I guess it’ll do.” 

She’s keenly aware that he’ll be able to see every time her thighs clench, desperate to try and wriggle the vibe properly into place. That he can see where her lacy knickers have ridden up, exposing most of her behind to him. “What are you doing?” 

The creak of her chair, the crack and hiss of a can of cider opening. “Having a drink.” 

“ _Yes_ , I get that, but can I—”

“No.”

She hisses in displeasure. “I don’t understand why—”

“You wanted mean? You get mean.” 

Rey is really starting to think she may have bitten off more than she can chew. But then again, this is Ben, who brings flowers for her room and took her punting in the summer sunshine and held her hand when she nearly vomited before her first Natural Science Tripos exams. The frightening uncertainty is tempered by a calm trust, and the combination feels like standing at the edge of a cliff and knowing there is no risk of falling in. Intoxicating. “You know, this wasn’t what I meant when I—”

“I know it wasn’t what you meant. But that’s the first lesson about this kind of thing, Rey: you don’t get to decide.” 

Oddly, she finds she likes the idea of that very much. “...Oh.”

“That being said, you obviously get to decide if things need to stop. Or slow down.” 

“Right.” She licks her lips. “Yellow and red?” She’s read enough on the internet to know the basics of safewording. 

“Good girl,” he praises, and the flush of arousal at his praise is enough to make her jerk her hips forward, and then falter in embarrassment when she remembers that he’s watching. “Do you need to say either of those right now?” 

“No,” she mumbles, embarrassed but terrified of things stopping. 

“Sorry?” 

“No,” she repeats, more forcefully, hips twitching again. Everything feels so achy and swollen, from the swell of her breasts to the burning heat between her legs. 

“See how much easier things can be if you just tell me what you need and listen?” 

Spitefully, she doesn’t want to answer. Instead, they sit in silence as he drinks and she gradually grows more and more desperate, until she starts working against the bindings on her wrists. It feels good to have something to fight, as he apparently won’t. 

She freezes again when she hears him stand and walk into her tiny adjoining bathroom. The sink runs and she’s rapt with attention until she hears the heavy thump of his footsteps get close again. 

“Turn around,” he says. 

It’s not easy. Rey gives herself a bit of rug burn as she shuffles on the carpet on bare knees, but she’s eventually looking up at him, throat getting tight to see how pissed off he looks. 

“You really can’t help but squirm, can you?” 

She should say something clever. Something cutting. She just pants at him instead. 

When he leans down and slips his fingers into her knickers, she thinks for a moment that her heart might stop from the anticipation. But instead of doing anything that she wants, he just pulls the vibrator away and turns it off. Having him so close for just a moment— enough to smell his cologne, feel his body heat— is intoxicating, but it’s over far too soon. Instead, he slips his expensive leather shoe between her knees and kicks a little back and forth so she has to make room for him between her thighs. He finally smiles, but it’s lupine and cunning instead of the rare toothy grin that she treasures. “If you really need to squirm, you can do it on this instead.” 

Has her room always been this hot? “What?” 

“I think you need to get off once, to calm down. You’re too pent up for us to have this conversation. So go on.” He taps his foot once, twice, against her floor. “Get off.” 

“But… how?” 

Ben raises his eyebrow, glances from her eyes to his expensive leather-clad foot, and taps his foot again. 

“No,” she says instantly, feeling an even hotter blush climb up her cheeks. 

His big fingers tangle with her hair and Rey feels like a kitten held by the scruff of its neck. Slumping down on her heels, she smothers a moan when he tucks his foot forward so the slick panel of her knickers rests square against the flat top. 

It feels like she’s being set alight. With each light rocking motion, every part of her hips lights up like a sparkler, the flush of heat eventually concentrating in a tight spot between her legs. Normally, this kind of arousal would be accompanied by a blissful drunken emptiness, the kind that wipes her mind— but now, all she can see is Ben staring down at her, the shame keeping her firmly grounded on the contrast of them, his fully dressed form and her dishevelled, frantically contorted body. 

“That’s right,” he says, more smug than should ever be allowed. “This is what you need, isn’t it, sweetheart?” 

She can’t answer. She just keeps rocking, thighs spreading wide and wider, her head resting against his thigh. The smell of the wine that she spilled on the fabric is rich and heady, and she’s at eye level with the tent in his trousers, clearly outlining his arousal. It’s easy to imagine it inside her, which makes her whole stomach clench; _I want that_ , she thinks desperately, _I want that_.

“I know,” he says, and she didn’t even realise that she’d said it out loud. “But you wanted mean, and this is what you’re getting. I could put you on your back and make sweet love to you and tell you how gorgeous you are, but you had to go and be a brat all through dinner. So now you’re getting to work out a little bit of that energy in the way that you and I both know you need.” 

“But I—” 

“And if you’re very good, you can have it later.” 

It makes her movements intensify. Rey is very grateful for her time on the college rowing team, that she’s had a lot of practice with repetitive movement in her legs, that she’s able to grind faster and faster. There’s a painfully loud, humiliating sound as her knickers rub against the leather, and it fills the room alongside her frantic panting. She’s climbing towards that peak at a lightning pace, grinding towards oblivion, and the horrifying perfection of it is liquifying her mind. 

Ben exhales, long and slow, through his nose. When she whips her neck back to stare at him, panting through her mouth, she can see the tenseness of his jaw, the flaring of his nostrils. As if the evidence right in front of her face weren’t enough, straining against his fly, the expression on his face lets her see the way he looks seconds from having his control break. When he speaks, there’s a noticeable strain in his voice. “I think you’re going to leave a stain on my shoes, sweetheart.” 

That does it. The thought of that, the exquisite humiliation of it, the idea that he will walk home and later to the lab and to classes and all around town with this reminder of her desperation, narrows her arousal to a fever-pitch. Her stomach muscles contract and her hips jerk back and forth uncontrollably as she comes, keening through gritted teeth, thighs shaking from overexertion. She has to close her eyes and twist her neck back and forth, body sparking like a loose wire, and she shudders through the blaring pleasure of it. 

She wants to collapse onto the floor as she comes down from it. Ben has other ideas, letting go of her hair to reach for his belt and fly. “No resting yet,” he murmurs. “That was for you. Now you need to do something for me.” 

That seems fair. Anything would seem fair. She’s too blissed out to do anything but open her mouth when the head of his cock touches her lips, slowly feeding into her mouth. 

“I’ll be keeping this pretty mouth busy, so you’ll need to snap your fingers instead of safewording.” 

Distantly, Rey is grateful for his caution, but wanting to stop is so far from her mind that it almost feels ridiculous for him to say it. She can’t think about anything other than the salty taste on her tongue, the focus of keeping her lips wrapped tightly and her mouth open wide enough, relaxing and breathing through her nose when he touches her throat. 

The blissed out numbness of orgasm evaporates in a moment when he starts to mutter to her, stroking her cheek and neck. “That’s right— that’s right. Good girl. I knew that you could be good. Fuck, yes, just like that.” 

It shouldn’t even be possible to stay this keyed up, but his praise sends a flush through her cheeks and her neck, making her skin heat again. She nearly moans in disappointment when he pulls away, but it’s only to pull the straps of her dress down, shoving the fabric of her bra so that her tits end up pushed up on top of them, aching from the exposure to the cooler air of the room. 

“Better,” he murmurs, giving one a sharp pinch before standing up straight and guiding his cock back against her tongue. 

She tries to imagine how it must look to Ben. Spit is slicking down her chin and her face is so hot that it must be red. Some tears have gathered at the corner of her eyes, just from the pure intensity of feeling that is speedballing through her brain, and her hair is a tangled mess. Her lipstick must be getting smeared as she’s sucking on him. However she looks, he must like something that he sees, because he groans when she looks up at him, doing her best to take him as far into her throat as she can, laving her tongue against the heat of his skin. 

The third time she chokes on his cock, he snarls a furious “enough”. Pulling away, he lifts her bodily by the waist and it wipes her mind clean, for a moment, remembering that he’s capable of that kind of strength and force. When she lands on the bed, she bounces on her knees; her face ends up mushed against the mattress, and it smothers her moans when the band of her knickers snap as he rips them off her. 

She wants, more than anything, for him to shove into her like an animal. He doesn’t. Instead, he rocks back and just looks. And looks. And looks. 

“You said I did a good job,” she finally whines. “You said I was good.” 

“And you were,” he agrees, too calmly, and she hates him. _Hates_ him. “But I want to hear you beg, and you couldn’t do that before, could you?” 

Rey yelps in surprise when something _does_ push into her, but it’s far too small to be his cock. When she contorts her body to try and look, she discovers that it’s her small dildo, the other toy from her shoebox. It’s not at all what she wanted, and she makes a garbled sound of displeasure to make sure he knows it. But it’s still better than nothing, and she ends up moaning when he rocks it further inside her. “I think,” he says, “that I’m going to make you come again, and then jack off on your tits.” 

Something akin to desperation rattles through her like an earthquake. “No,” she says, getting distracted by another twist of the toy, trying to talk through pleasure that is deliriously good but simultaneously not nearly enough. “No, please, I want, um— I want—” 

“Use your words.” 

She’s heard him use that tone when she once peeked in on him teaching a seminar, and there’s something about the incongruity of it that addles her mind that much more. “Um…” One of his hands snakes up her front, over her rumpled dress, and unexpectedly pinches at her nipple, hard enough that it shocks the words out. “I want you to fuck me.” 

“I am fucking you.” 

_Asshole_. She loves it. “With your cock,” she sobs out, “I want you to fuck me with your cock.” 

Her hopes lift when he says “good girl,” but he still continues to piston the toy in and out of her relentlessly, now gently soothing her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Next time, what will you do?” 

She can’t think. “What?” 

“When you want something from me, next time, what will you do?” 

There is no universe where she would be able to say anything that isn’t exactly what he wants. “I’ll just tell you,” she chants, “I’ll tell you, I promise, I’ll just ask, I can do that, I’ll tell you _please_ Ben please—” 

Her reward is that she finally feels the toy disappear and the slippery head of his cock push against her instead, barely meeting any resistance. One long glorious slide and Ben is finally as deep inside as she wanted him to be; she lets herself go boneless as she slumps against the bed, the curve of his body bending along her back, each thrust rubbing just right along the most sensitive flesh inside her. Even though she’s as wet as she’s ever been, there’s still the acute pressure of being _over_ full, stretched to her limit. She’s exhausted and deliriously aroused and her thighs won’t stop shaking, but a part of her dizzily thinks that this might be the best sex she’s ever had. _I didn’t know it could be like this_ , that voice whispers, _I didn’t know it could be this good._

One of Ben’s big hands splays along her belly, holding her tightly in place, and there’s something about the possessiveness of it— the way he’s just using her body— that makes her feel even dizzier. She’s slick down her thighs and he has to be able to feel it. 

“I guess now we know what it takes for you to stop bratting,” he croons against her ear. “You need someone to tell you what a good girl you are, hmm? How pretty you look with your tits bouncing while you grind on my foot? Remind you that even in your nicest dress, I still know you’re a desperate slut who’d do anything for cock?” 

_Go to hell_ , she ought to say, but what comes out instead is a breathy, “Uh huh.” 

“I knew that. Did you know it?” 

And again. “Uh huh.” 

“Next time you’ll ask for what you need, won’t you?” 

His teeth graze her shoulder and she feels the echo of the scrape all the way down to her toes. “Yes, yes, yes—” 

“If you’d just asked, I would’ve been fucking happy to give it it you, Rey. You have no idea what I’ve thought about doing with you. The ways I’ve thought about using you.” 

She doesn’t even have an answer. All she can do is lie there and moan. 

“If I’d known what a little whore you are, I would’ve been doing this all along.” 

The name makes something ripple through her and she tenses, clenching around him, bucking against his body as best she can. 

His chuckle is disbelieving. “We’re going to have so much fun doing this from now on, slut— or, at least, I’m going to have fun. You might not enjoy it very much at all, but that’s what you want, isn’t it?” 

Focused on the stretch and push of his cock as he screws into her so deeply that she thinks she might feel him there forever, she nearly misses the way that he’s waiting for an answer. The best she can choke out is a plaintive, “yes— _please_.” 

Ben’s grip tightens. He huffs through his teeth and begins to move even faster, so much that her arse is pressed even higher in the air, unsteadily balancing on her knees as she tries to stop being thrown against the headboard. “Should come in you and send you back to everyone else,” he says through a clenched jaw, “fill you up and see if that makes you behave a little better— keep your panties and leave it dripping down your legs, is that what you want?”

She’s so close, already, again. Is so ready to feel the rush of wet warmth from him, with no barrier between their skin. His big fingers grope down her front and slip over her clit in imprecise movements, but it’s _enough_ , enough combined with the stinging in her knees and the scrape of his shirt against her bound hands behind her back, the push of his cock, the slick pulse of it, the promise of his come— 

With a long groan, she feels the moment that he finishes, his grip tightening on her hip to the point where she thinks she’ll wear his marks tomorrow when she gets dressed. The flow of _warm_ and _wet_ between her legs intensifies as he softens, but he stays crouched over her back, panting and stroking at her clit until she keens high in the back of her throat, holding herself perfectly, deliriously still, as a shivery orgasm slips through her body like the soft glow of light through fog. 

With clumsy movements, he undoes the tie and frees her hands, gently massaging her wrists. When he gathers her into his arms, something tight in her chest finally loosens in a beautiful, relaxing burst, flooding her system with a high that is better than getting a first on a paper, better than being drunk, better than a sunny day where spring is on the way. 

The fluttery sensation of him pressing kisses to her forehead makes her look up at him with a drowsy smile. His eyes are closed and she gives him a nudge. “Hey.” 

He contorts his neck to look down at her with such concern that she almost laughs. “Hey,” he says back. “Are you doing okay? Was that okay?” 

“It was more than okay.” 

“Great. That’s… Great.” He strokes her back a few more times and wraps her in a bear hug, nearly crushing her. “Sex stuff aside, next time please do just ask?” 

That little flush of embarrassment creeps in again. “I know. I’m sorry. I will.” 

“Can’t request more than that,” he says, pressing kisses down the side of her face, all the way to her neck, before peppering them all over the swells of her breasts. As she laughs and squirms, she looks down and finds him grinning up at her with wild hair and colour high in his cheeks, exposing his crooked teeth; it’s a crystal-clear moment, one that she wants to preserve in amber, of two people sated and happy.

* * *

If Ben has one mission in life, Rey thinks, it is to teach her that there is food out there that is a cut above late-night Maccas and a sleeve of custard creams. 

The newest attempt is a lovingly made pizza. It has home-made crust and fresh tomato sauce and weird cheese from The Gog Farm Shop. She watches, perched on a stool and drinking proper wine of his selection, as he painstakingly rolls out the dough in his kitchen. Ben assembles the toppings with the care of an artist before putting it in the oven, muttering regretfully about how ideally, it would go into a wood burning stove. 

When he sets it on the table, it smells divine. He cuts her a slice and puts it in front of her with a flourish, insisting on a napkin for her lap. 

She’s only taken one bite before he jumps in. “What do you think?” 

The honest truth is that it’s one of the most delicious things that Rey has ever tasted. Better than the first time she tried risotto during her orientation week, better than the freshest peaches sold at the stall in front of the Corn Exchange. But she licks the sauce off her fingers, kittenish and soft, before blinking up at him with her most innocent smile and shrug. “It’s all right, I suppose?” 

“It’s… all right.” He looks stunned, more shocked than when she explained that she didn’t see a dentist for the first 18 years of her life. 

Cocking her head, she bites her lip. “I think I might like Dominos better.” 

“You…” He seems to be choking on his words. “Are you serious?” 

She takes another bite and pretends to consider it very carefully as she chews. It really is very, very nice pizza. “Yeah, I think that Dominos might be better.” 

It’s only when she fully winks at him that his dumbfounded expression shifts into something more predatory. “Oh— _oh_. I see. That’s what you think, is it?” 

“It is,” she chirps happily. “I sure hope someone doesn’t have to correct me.” 

She could nearly laugh with happiness when he balls up his napkin and tosses it on the table. “Finish your slice and get upstairs, sweetheart. You and I are going to have words.” 

“Just words?” 

He takes a long drag of the needlessly expensive wine. “We’ll see if I can’t change your mind.” 

Rey can’t think of anything she wants more. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> From the Wikipedia Entry on Game Theory: “Originally, it addressed zero-sum games, in which each participant's gains or losses are exactly balanced by those of the other participants.” 
> 
> I laughed for a good two minutes when I realised the parallels and chose this title, and I hope that maybe two of you will find this as funny as I did.
> 
> Also: these are strange, stressful times. I hope you’re all keeping safe, and that this provided a few minutes of escapism. <3
> 
> I’m on twitter mostly nowadays, @hrotsvitha_g


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